Watch What Happens
by RaspBerryHats
Summary: Years after Graceland has been burned, Mike and Charlie happen across the same bar in Texas. She asks him a loaded question and in that moment, she remembers all that happened that got them there. / a short series of moments that forced an unlikely pair of trained FBI agents to trust something greater than themselves: each other.
1. Chapter 1

November 15th, 2020 Austin, TX

_22:03, S Guadalupe Street_

* * *

The heat was overwhelming, oppressing. Charlie stumbled on a crooked stone in the sidewalk, tripping through the thick air like falling through murky water. She could feel it on her skin, in her eyes, in her throat: fat water droplets, made gluttonous like cotton balls. It made her parched and sweaty at the same time. She needed a beer, and fast. Or hell, even a friggin' jug of water. Her pointed shoes painfully squeezed her toes again and she grimaced. Okay, water and some ice. Lots of ice.

_La Hacienda_ was still open and fortunately rather empty. Charlie strode past the Hispanic man lounging in the large, glass-free window. He drunkenly tipped his hat at her as she slid into the barstool. She muttered something in perfect Spanish to the bartender, who was eyeing her with his one good eye. The other was hidden by a black patch strapped around the back of his head. The man grunted and slammed a shot glass on the wooden bar. He filled it up with two flicks of his wrist, and then from under the wall cabinet, he added a bottle of water to the shot glass.

Charlie took the shot, chased it down by a gulp of water, and used the rest of the cold water as a compress against her head.

"Wouldn't suppose you got any Advil, do ya?" She raised a semi-hopeful glance to the one-eyed bartender. He grunted again, shook his head and walked to the end of the bar to continue to "clean" a glass, his back facing her.

"Didn't think so," she muttered.

The ancient jukebox spluttered, wheezed and fell into a slow two-step with Johnny Cash. This place was so different from what she knew, what she remembered. There was a party scene, here and there, but if you looked hard enough, or if you were the right kind of drunk, you could stumble back into 1912 with the cowboys and cattle and a southern drawl and the campfires. Campfires. She was good with those. Campfires brought her back to what she knew. She took the bottle from the wedge in the bar and filled up her glass again. Hmm. It was strange how much wood-soaked tequila tasted like campfires.

Charlie checked the clock again and stamped down the inclination to text Jakes and see if he liked tracking down illegal bear fur traders in Canada more than hunting down golden canaries in the So-Cal. Something about the ease by which he adopted the Jamaican accent told her no, but Charlie just laughed to herself. She took another shot and the campfire by the Pacific Ocean became clearer in her mind. Briggs with all his swagger; his overwhelming sense of leadership and security. She hoped he was happy there, still training new recruits in Florida. It wasn't Graceland, nothing ever would be, but Briggs needed to be the big Papa Bear to all the new little agents. In all honesty, she was surprised he accepted the position: any thoughts of Graceland, especially towards the end, sent Charlie herself into a crawling depression. It was the alcohol and the tiredness that allowed her to linger in the past for so long. Then there was Johnny. Last she heard of Johnny, he was back in the Mother Land and out of the agency, but still trying to do good in the world. He was building missions for the orphanages around Mexico City. There was never a doubt he would help people, but clearly an agent's life was not meant for all of them. But how many people could stay sane, much less in the business, after what happened to Graceland, to Lauren—

Her mental picture of the campfire froze on Lauren's smiling face, her brilliant blue eyes. They had been like sisters. Until one night a man with a long butcher knife came and—

Paige, who probably had the biggest balls of them all, stayed in California. She stuck it out. With Graceland gone, she moved back into the belly of the dragon, the offices there in San Pedro. There she does paperwork and occasionally gets up from her desk to get a snack from the break room. But she's the bravest. She's still there. She'd be the first one they'd call if they ever found a body.

Charlie shuddered from a cold under her own skin and took a final shot, the shot that released a warm buzz down her back. A breeze that smelled like the Pacific Ocean tumbled through the suddenly open front door. A Texas Ranger strutted in, his hat tipped low. He made a slow gesture to the bartender, who quickly went to work preparing the drink. Charlie watched the bartender instead of the approaching stranger. By all accounts, the big man with two snakes tatted down the sides of his trunk-like biceps was absolutely terrified. Quick eye movements. Shaking hands. Avoidance of eye-contact.

While Charlie watched, the man slid up behind her. She was acutely aware of how close he was, and how unfortunately un-drunk he was. If this had been some big, dumb cop with a bottle of whiskey on his breath, she could lay him flat with two quick jabs. But this guy was clear, and solid, like a stone rubbed smooth under a waterfall. He pressed up against her back. Charlie's hand slowly dropped off the bar and casually reached for her inner thigh— where she had kept a 340PD since she graduated from the academy. Like a stroke of lightening, the man grabbed her wrist, his thumb grazing her thigh. His breath was rough in her hair.

"Is that really how you want to greet your old undercover buddy?"

Charlie's heart skipped a beat.

The man released her hand, finger pads scraping gently the top of her thigh as he drew away. He climbed into the leather seat next to her as though he was climbing into a '67 FireBird. Michael Warren took off his hat and flashed a defeated smile at her. He played with it in his hands, flicking the leather straps back and forth. A brilliant white scar dug into his right eyebrow, as though someone had stretched a piece of thick thread into his skin. After years of wounds and healing, she knew it hadn't healed properly. Someone hadn't given him the right medical treatment and now his face was marred slightly because of it.

The bartender returned with his drink and Mike slugged it back without asking if she wanted any.

"So the prodigal son returns." Charlie muttered. _It's not polite to stare_. She leaned forward, the room suddenly swerving sharply before righting itself again. She laughed and hoped the sound wasn't forced. Mike didn't seem to notice as he smiled again, a dart of his tongue escaping his brilliant mouth to lap up a drop of loose whiskey.

"Define returns. If return you mean, stationed in the devil's armpit in a final test to prove I am _di-rect-or_ material, then yeah, I've returned."

_I meant, you ass, returned into my life_. "Well, it's good to see you're still in one piece. We all worried about you."

Mike snorted. "All of you? You still keep up with them, all of them?" He shot her a sidelong glance, one filled with slightly more malice than Charlie cared to see come from those baby-blues.

Charlie shrugged. "No, I guess, not all of them. But I know, where ever the hell they are, they think about you." She thought she saw his hand clench around his shot glass, but he moved to throw off his jacket with an abrupt laugh.

"Okay, look, let's start again. Charlie DeMaro," he looked at her roughly, his eyes blurry, "what the hell are you doing in Austin, Texas at eleven o'clock at night in a seedy, Hispanic dive?" He held up a shot glass for her to clink, his bottom lip pouting in his witty smirk. She felt the swell of familiarity rise and turning to gather both her glass and the bottle, she winked at him.

"What else, Michael Warren," she poured two healthy shots into their glasses, "but a case."

He nodded knowingly and they drank to the health and longevity of agents everywhere.

"And what case would that be?"

Charlie frowned and glanced at the tipsy Mexican rotating in the window. Mike shook his head.

"Neither of these guys know enough English to order a pizza much less divulge the secrets of the FBI." He pointed to the man in the window. "Hector Sanches, runs a local restaurant about five blocks from here. It's been in the family for five generations." He pointed to the bartender. "Marques Fresco, already on two strikes. He doesn't want to be messing into anything else because his wife is due in November. You gotta trust me on this."

"Sounds like you served him that second strike, Mike." Charlie muttered. Simultaneously they glanced at the big bartender. The man visibly swallowed and turned deeper into the corner of the bar, his hands still furiously working to clean the spotless glass.

Mike leaned in and Charlie realized how much weight he carried. It was why she didn't recognize him the moment he stepped foot into the dive. The tan collared shirt stretched tight against his back muscles as he moved, his forearms twisting beneath the cotton. _Finally changed up that gruesome grass-root shake, didn't you?_ Despite the fact that she no longer doubted he could singlehandedly manhandle two-strikers like the bartender, she still had the sense of urgency to protect him, to tell him to not sweat the big stuff. Like a moonflower blossoming under pale beams of light, she remembered a night very different from this one. The one night he told her everything was going to be okay. Blinking into these eyes worn hard by the doomed anguish every guardian of the law must suffer, she couldn't imagine that he too remembered that night.

_I'm so sorry, Mikey_.

"You're not wrong, Ms. Demarco." Mike grinned at her and finished off the next glass. Charlie followed, throwing back the drink. The spicy zing of the tequila burned the corners of her eyes and evaporated all water there. The gasp she released was from a particularly hot cup, she let Mikey believe.

"You still haven't told me why you're here."

"C'mon, Mike, it's been ages since we've had a good drink between us," Charlie said, gesturing to the bottle and glasses. "Can't we just talk?"

Mike shrugged, the movement oddly stiff but perhaps it was just the constricting collared shirt. "What do you want to talk about?"

"Where've you been, what you've seen, who you've met! I mean, I don't need all gory details, but if you're a step up from director, you shoulda seen the world!" Charlie slapped the back of her hand against his shoulder, grinning. Mike nodded, smiling ever so slightly. But he was retreating, pulling away. With every shake of his head, Mike Warren, fresh out of Quantico, flashed then died to give way to Michael, the Texas Ranger undercover.

"I've gone to China, trying to shut down a weapons ring that had started to pick up sixteen year old girls for a double bonus with every purchase of an illegal M-16. They're still trying to return all the girls to their homes. I went to San Francisco to catch an optometrist who was embezzling thousands. I met a girl there. We dated. She couldn't stand the hours and I think she knew I wasn't an accountant." His head dropped, blurring out his eyes in shadow. Then he raised his head and took a sip of Charlie's water. "Been to Paris, Tokyo, Buenos Aires, Salt Lake City and Monterey. Been a lot of other places I can't talk about. I got a lot of high profile cases because I've always been the best. Here, looking for some illegals before they skip over the border, isn't any different."

"But it's what you wanted to do, right?" Charlie wondered if she as hopeless to him as she did to herself.

"Of course it is," Mike smiled and Charlie's erratic pulse slowed. Thick crows feet splintered from the corners of his eyes and those baby blue sung again. He was happy; he was taken care of. Charlie drank another sip of water to stifle the sigh of relief.

"It's just . . . no one ever really warned us what the job would do. I mean, yeah, we had to sign a liability waiver, but c'mon. Nobody really gave us the whole picture."

"And that's how they reel in new recruits every year," she tapped him on the arm with the bottom of her glass. "They tell us we'd be heroes, but they never specify how, or the cost."

Mike smiled again, laughing softly into the crook of his crossed arms that rested on the bar. "You always knew exactly what to say."

Charlie looked away, playing with the shot glass between her fingers. "If I recall correctly, in times of trouble, Merry Mike came to me, whispering words of wisdom, everything is going to be okay."

"I don't think that's how the song goes," Mike grinned. "But that coming from the woman who consistently makes up her own words to Benny and the Jets, I'm not surprised!"

"Hey!" She swatted him on the arm and he laughed, spinning slowly on the leather seat. "It's not like any of those Chinese morons had any idea that I was even remotely wrong!"

"Not when you wore Black Mambo No. 5." Mike winked and his gaze dropped just for a moment, but it was long enough for her heart to jitter ever so slightly. He looked away, not abashed as he once might have, but because he knew it was not his place to look.

"Yeah, well, I'd like to see how you'd dress to distract an entire room full of arms dealers while your undercover buddies snuck into the backroom." Charlie said, swishing around the leftovers in her glass.

"Hey, hey, I'm not saying I could do any better." Mike raised his hands in defense. "It was just a very interesting sight, walking into a very dangerous, privately owned club and it being totally silent, with every mouth open and eyes mesmerized on the stage. And to my great surprise, I find out that it's you butchering the classic Elton John song, but being so incredibly hot, nobody cared. That, my elegant friend, is how you work undercover."

"We all have our talents, Mikey."

It was like playing Hot Pepper with a hand-grenade. This was all too close, too familiar. It was just one word away, one small sentence and this night of great reunion, of a possible renewed friendship would be blown to hell. And the tip-toe act was making her nauseous.

Charlie straightened up, took a deep breath and put a hand over his.

"Are you still mad at me?"

It felt like an eternity before he answered.

* * *

August 2nd, 2013, San Pedro, CA

_Graceland: 0600_

* * *

"Oh, no, no, no." Mike dug through the washer and pulled out his favorite red t-shirt. With horror, he assessed its colored damage. All of Briggs's stark white underwear, socks and running shirts were a brilliant pink. In an effort to get Briggs to see him as one of the Graceland crew, Mike washed his training officer's laundry first thing on Monday morning. What Mike hadn't expected was that one of his own shirts had accidentally been left in the bottom of the washer, a drifter from a previous load. And it had to be the brightest shirt Mike owned. Every single piece of clothing that went into that washer was now the color of Mike's niece's Barbie tricycle. "Oh my God, this cannot be happening. Briggs is going to skin me."

"Probably."

Mike jumped, his heart pounding and he spun to face the intruder. It was Charlie, in running shorts and a very ratty tank top. Her hair was still mussed from sleep. Through the sleep still in her eyes, she grinned and leaned against the doorway.

"I don't know, but I definitely don't think pink is his color," Charlie said, shrugging. "And I'm pretty sure Briggs will agree."

"I'm screwed." Mike shook his head, wide eyes wandering over the stained clothes. "I've been here for two months and it's not even the bad guys that are going to get me sent back to Quantico. It's the friggin' detergent."

"Yeah, there's pretty much no way you can save those clothes." Charlie nodded. A mischievous smirk lurked temptingly on her lips. She stepped away from the door and came up next to Mike. It was always in these shorts or dresses or _komonos _that Charlie settled herself right next to him. He swallowed as she brushed him with her hair and reached for the pen attached to the chore wheel. She smelled like vanilla strawberries. His toes curled. _Why couldn't you come this close in a SWAT suit, or in full body armor, or in a giant plastic bubble or—_

She took his wrist and wrote something down on his palm.

"This is the address of Briggs's favorite store. Kinda like Walmart but not as big or as owned by corporate evil. It opens in thirty minutes and Briggs's won't be back from downtown until 0900."

Mike blinked, ripping his eyes away from the curl under her left ear and forcing himself to look at the address. It was several seconds before his brain restarted. For a moment, the words on his palm looked like gibberish.

"Wait, how do you know this? Why are you helping me?"

"I wouldn't have given you Donnie's key if I didn't think you were something special." She returned the pen to the chore wheel and sighed. "Now, I'm going to go into the kitchen, get some cereal and if Briggs finds out about this and asks for my involvement in anyway, I will lie through my teeth. Now, go get 'em, Tiger."

She saluted him in a sleepy way and was gone. Mike took a deep breath, cleared his thoughts of all strawberry vanilla scents, and headed for the store.

* * *

_*A/N: hey guys. I know this is a little preemptive as the show is about two episodes in, but I'm literally rolling in Mike x Charlie feels and I just had to do something about it. This'll be a short fic, but definitely multi-chaptered. This is just something fun and light hearted for summer. Please let me know what you think._


	2. Chapter 2: A Change in Perspective

**Chapter 2: A Change In Perspective**

July 21st 2013

_18-00 Graceland_

* * *

"Okay, we want you to look like greasy, pig-headed thug, not an actual oozing slime-bucket so for the love of Elvis, put down the hair gel!" Paige snatched the round container out of his hands and firmly screwed it shut. Mike whipped around, hands grabbing.

"C'mon, Paige, I gotta look the part! We're potentially walking into an ambush of very angry, very armed Korean drug lords and nothing can go wrong!"

"Yeah, White Bread here does stick out here like a sore thumb," Johnny nodded in agreement as he plopped down in the make up chair in front of the large, lighted mirror. He applied another semi-permanent tattoo to his forearm.

Mike moaned in exasperation, motioning towards the tattoo. "See, _that's_ what I need! I need something tough, something that says 'don't mess with me', something—,"

"Tough?" Briggs walked in, a tight black shirt making him appear three sizes bigger than he actually was. A freshly made scar was painted over his left cheek. Two black leather gun holsters wrapped around his chest. His cargo pants were army grade.

Johnny leaned back in his chair and softly whistled. "You look like Hannibal and Mr. T had a very scary, deadly baby. Nice, man."

Mike just gaped.

"Thanks, Johnny, been saving these for a special occasion." He loaded the pistol on the closet next to him.

"Okay, remind me again why I'm needed for this," Mike frowned at Paige, "since we've got Law and Order bringing in the heat."

"I told you, these Koreans like a big show." Paige came over and slid his jacket off his left shoulder and began to apply something there on his bicep. "They like to think they're only dealing with the best, the richest dealers this side of the Pacific. If we come in looking like whimpy little buyers trying to run a drug business out of our mama's basement, there's no way we can get a beat on the new grenades coming in. They'll just laugh at us. There, is this tough enough?"

Paige stepped back, brush and make up at the ready to make a change. Mike rolled his eyes.

She had drawn a very believable tattoo of a heart on his arm. In the center, in perfect sailor-esque scrawl:

"Mom?" Mike sighed. "I'm going to buy three crates of highly explosive material with an 'I love Mom' tat?"

"The Koreans also respect family values." Paige bent down and put the makeup away. Then she tossed her golden hair over her shoulder and winked. "What's more traditional than a mommy's boy?"

"C'mon, guys, let's roll out." Briggs grabbed a pair of aviators off the top of a chest and headed for the door. "We're meeting Charlie there."

"And she's going to be wearing her Black Mambo No. 5." Paige said deviously. Briggs grinned and Johnny let out a low whistle.

"Wow, she ain't giving them a chance, is she?" Johnny shook his head.

"Wait, what's Black Mambo No. 5?" Mike asked, glancing at the three agents, who all grinned knowingly.

"You know that song, by Lou Bega, about that guy who has a chick for every situation?" Briggs nudged Mike, crossing his arms.

"Well, let's just say, in this, she can get any guy _for anything_." Johnny nodded approvingly.

"If we're going to be the only non-Asians in this place, we need a little more than to look the part," Briggs continued. "We're going to need them to be looking in the complete opposite direction."

"And this dress can do it?"

"It's not the dress itself, Mikey," Paige said as she reapplied her lipstick. "It's what the girl can do_ in_ the dress."

"Okay, but hold up," Mike paused. "I went along with her last time to the club. Aren't they going to recognize me again?"

"Who said your cover is going to be anything different?" Paige asked as she slipped into heels so high it made Mike dizzy just looking at them. She grabbed a white throw and wrapped it around her neck. With a quick look in the mirror, she jostled her hair and then grabbed Mike by the collar as she left. "C'mon, hot stuff, you're my ticket into the seedy underworld of Korean arms dealing."

* * *

July 21st, 2013

_20-00 Bobby's Karaoke_

* * *

"So, we all know our covers." Paige turned from the passenger seat to look at the guys. "Mike, you're new on the scene. My cousin, who looking into setting up shop in Jersey. You two are just the muscle, but Briggs is Mike's right hand man."

"So I can step in and save your ass when you start talking out of it." Briggs glanced at Mike through the rearview mirror. "We're in this together, so no pressure."

"Yeah, sure, no pressure." Mike muttered.

"Well, now that we've got discussed, let's go catch us a bad guy!" Paige hollered. "Whoo!"

She stumbled out of the jeep, laughing drunkenly. She came around to Mike's door as he stepped out.

"C'mon, cuz, you're gonna love this guy!" She latched onto his arm and dragged him towards the entrance, giggling. The bouncer glanced up from the entrance. Briggs and Johnny followed in pursuit.

"And she's just acting?" Mike murmured to Briggs as Paige laughed with the bouncer.

"If she didn't get into law enforcement, I'd say she was the next great actress of our time."

Paige bounced over. "C'mon, you guys, I got us a great seat! We'll be right up next to the stage! I hear there's a really great singer!"

The bouncer was glancing at a scuff in the sidewalk, completely at ease, as Paige pulled their entourage through the door. What a pretty girl could get away with . . .

The lights pumped a red hue around the dance club, like a pulse. Dark figures hung on the walls, in chairs at tables, shadows in secret. Paige crossed the room in a quick burst and fell into the lap of a grizzly looking man, who immediately started whispering in her ear. Several others pulled for her attention and she made a joke, to which they all burst out in laughter. After the loss of a pack leader, male wolves often fought for the surviving mate. Mike once read that in a National Geographic article. The men leaned towards her, touching her knee and offering drinks. A hot anger flamed inside of him.

He felt Briggs's hand on his shoulder.

"Don't stress it. She could take them all out in about five seconds. She's just playing a part."

"Yeah, but it still feels like they're pawing at my baby sister." Johnny muttered beside, tapping at the gun at his waist. Mike nodded in agreement.

"All the more reason to take these sons of bitches down, and hard. But chin up, here they come."

Paige waved them over and the three dipped into the back, ducking around prying eyes and curious glances. A giant shadow, two men high and three men wide, suddenly stood from the front crowd and approached them.

"And now, our act of the night, Ms. Jasymn Rosas!"

Charlie appeared on the stage. The giant shadow stopped.

She had on four inch black heels and yes, a dress that made mankind weak at the knee. It strapped up around her chest, a giant black bar around her breast, crossing in the front and leaving her curvy sides bare. Her hair was pulled up in a big loose ponytail, curls dripping down her back like sweat. Her makeup drawn on like a mask, she flashed her fan-like eyelashes and began to sing. It was Fever, by Peggy Lee.

Mike's throat was parched.

"Move, Mike, c'mon."

The three snuck past the sumo-sized man who was transfixed by the sight on the stage. Mike was greeted by a wide Asian man with no neck.

"I am Roy, Bob's older brother. He says you come highly recommended." He extended a hand and Mike shook it firmly.

"Your brother's got good taste. Only the best."

Roy's eyebrow jumped slightly but he opened his arms in a welcoming gesture. "Please, sit. Can I get you something to drink?"

"No, but uh—,"

On stage, Charlie let out a soft moan, embodying Peggy Lee perfectly. Mike dropped into a seat, his knees no longer trustworthy. Johnny and Briggs shifted uncomfortably near Roy's bodyguards.

"She's a beauty, isn't she?" Roy asked, watching Charlie himself. "My girl, Gabby, here found her. Who knew she had such a voice."

"Dats where I knuh you!" A weasel-faced man piped up from the back of Roy's gang. He was pointing directly at Mike. He was absurdly excited. "You was in heh a day before with Pretty Singing Lady!"

"Yeah, of course I was." Mike said smugly, leaning back in the chair. "_That_ little number is my gal. Bob said I had only the best."

Again, Roy raised an eyebrow before snapping to one of his guards.

"So what do you want, Mr. . . .?"

"Hammond. These are my guys, Spike and Donovan." Mike knew a head-slap was coming for naming Briggs after the 70s singer, but that would have to wait. "And I want some heavy artillery."

Roy leaned back in his seat, swishing his drink around. "What makes you think I've got any of that?"

"C'mon, Roy, don't play coy. It's what got your bro sent to the Big House, am I right?" Mike said pointedly. "An amateur mistake I'm sure _you_ won't make."

Roy's guards ruffled uneasily. Roy narrowed his eyes.

"I mean, Gabby didn't bring me here to talk about Saki. At least that's what she told me."

On stage, Charlie ended Fever and picked up on Benny and the Jets, complete with dance moves.

As though on cue, Paige appeared out of nowhere and slid into the seat next to Roy, a purple drink in hand.

"What are we talking about, fellas?"

"Your cousin Hammond is making some very interesting requests."

Paige laughed. "He always had a big mouth. Make his mother crazy with all his back talking. Isn't that right, Hammy?"

She took a drink, but her eyes glared roughly. _Watch your step, Mike_.

"I'm just saying, Bello wouldn't be very happy if his information about a new shipment coming in from the Koreans turned sour."

Roy's eyes narrowed. "Bello knows about this."

"We _all_ do."

Roy nodded, clearly considering. He leaned over and began whispering with his co in rapid Korean. Mike suddenly realized what that irritating noise was. He turned and finally caught Charlie butchering the last chorus of Benny and the Jets. She was rocking back and forth, laughing and smiling. The audience laughed with her and howled. She ended with a twirl and a wink, that caused half of the club to leap to their feet with applause.

"And thank you to Ms. Jasymn Rosas! By that roar, you're welcome back any time!"

Charlie trotted down the side steps off the stage and materialized behind Mike in seconds.

"How we doing, babe?" She scratched up the back of his neck with her black nails, digging up into his thick hair. It wasn't entirely acting when he dropped back his head into her hands and groaned softly.

"Doing just fine." He murmured. He looked up at her from the couch and she grinned down. There was a sharp prick of her nail against the back of his ear and he snickered. "Just about got this wrapped up, right, Roy?"

Roy pulled away from his co and glanced at Briggs and Johnny, his face blank. Finally, he nodded. "Come with me, Mr. Hammond. But leave the guards and the women."

"Aww, c'mon, Roy! Bobby showed me all the ropes and you've let me come to meetings before!" Paige pouted.

Roy glanced at Charlie before smirking darkly. "Yeah, sure, you can come, but she's gotta stay."

Charlie slid into the couch beside Mike and took his drink. "Lil ol' me surrounded by all these handsome men with big guns. However will I entertain myself?" She rubbed Johnny's hand with a stroke of her palm. Mike looked away and followed Roy, an unplaced sense of overwhelming anger blooming inside of him as one of Roy's guards eyed her from head to toe. It was different from the anger when Paige was surrounded by guffawing trolls. Then he wanted to punch some manners into every one of them. Now, he wanted rip the man's head off with his bare hands.

Paige was still giggling as they went out back to Roy's collection of trucks. They were out in a private lot behind the club. Roy went to the right most truck and threw off the cover. The entire back end of the truck was filled with unmarked boxes. He climbed up on top and cracked open one of the crates. He tossed Mike one of the grenades.

"Military grade. Stole 'em off a Vietnam cargo base. It'll be months before they figure out they're even gone."

"They're good. Good weight." Mike tossed it back and forth. Paige was suddenly entranced by the weaponry. "How much for three hundred?"

Roy jumped down from the truck, swishing a mint around in his mouth. As he surveyed the packages, a man stumbled out from the club.

"Hey, this ain't no parking garage!"

Roy scowled and whipped out his phone to call a guard to get him out of here. Mike's pulse was suddenly racing; he was one of the police officers from the local precinct and he couldn't take the chance that his cover would be blown.

"Hey buddy, this is private property!" Roy snapped, still on the phone. He approached the man and waved him away. The officer just pushed his hand away.

" 'Ey, free country, man!" The man stumbled forward, pushing back towards Roy. He misstepped and fell into Mike. "Get off me!"

Mike tried to pull away, but the officer grabbed his shoulders to steady. "You . . . I know you!"

"No, you don't, man. You have me mistaken—,"

Mike tried to pull away, but the man latched on harder. "Yeah, yeah, where have you been?"

Suddenly the man's eyes went wide, then his grip went slack and he fell over. Paige was standing behind him, the lid of the open grenade box in her hands. Roy was watching her, speechless.

"He was like totally going ape-shit on my little cousin! I wasn't just going to stand there!"

There was a breathless moment in that it seemed Roy would blow the whistle on the whole thing. But then he shook his head and shut the phone.

"So you were more than just a tight dress. Figures my brother would get an assassin attached to a great pair of tits."

Paige shrugged and dropped the lid, giggling. "Ooh, assassin, that's such a scary word. I just wanted to hit something!"

She pranced over to his side. Roy eyed her hungrily but as he turned to step up onto the truck, Paige pulled a gun out of nowhere and whapped Roy across the back of the head. He stumbled, hit his forehead against the floor of the truck and passed out.

"Where the hell were you keeping that?" Mike cried. Paige was checking his pulse and sighed in relief. She reached up into her earpiece.

"Guys, we're done here. We had someone almost recognize Mike so we dealt with it, but Roy here is going to have a pretty big bump."

"And he's not going to think it's suspicious when he wakes up and realizes that you knocked him out," Mike muttered.

"Not if he doesn't remember it." She reached into her cleavage and pulled out a plastic bag with a single pill in it. She slipped it into his mouth and massaged his throat until he swallowed it.

"So you roofied him, while he's unconscious?"

Paige shrugged. "He closed the deal with the club singer's cocky boyfriend. We went back inside, had a few too many drinks, and went back to his place."

"Are you going to tell him that you two . . . you know . . ." Mike trailed off.

"No, we can't have a date just yet. We need to move this shipment and then I can finally ditch these scumbags."

Mike helped pull Roy's unconscious body onto the ground as Johnny, Bridge and Charlie came out. Mike frowned at Charlie's gun. He glanced at Johnny and Briggs.

"Did you—,"

"Nope." Charlie shook her head as she bent down over the unconscious cop.

Mike spun and looked at Paige who was checking Roy for keys. "And you didn't—,"

"Nope."

"News flash, Mikey, you don't piss off the female," Johnny muttered behind them. "You never know if they're hiding a pistol or a bazooka up in all of _that_. You never know when they could just— _pow_— blow you off your feet."

"Yeah," Mike murmured. He glanced over to Charlie, still checking over the cop. Her eyes were almost silver in the brilliant moonlight. "You never know."

* * *

May 3rd, 2017

_08-30 Graceland_

* * *

"Aw, c'mon guys, what was that?" Charlie lobbed a popcorn kernel from her armchair at the flat screen TV in the living room, scowling. The Red Socks had just hit another home run against the Dodgers and the Dodgers could not take another loss if they wanted to get into the finals. She had been following the Dodgers since she was six and this was the closest they had been to the finals in years. But not with this scrapping playing. "At least make it a goddamn challenge!"

"Playing Call of Duty again?" A freshly cleaned Mike turned the corner, a white rag drying his sun-blonde hair. The years at Graceland had transformed the little white kid from Virginia into quite the "surfer dude". His hair was longer, still up-kept, but it was harder and harder to pass as the all American marine any more. He took every chance he could get to show off his almost tan.

Charlie scowled again, forcibly keeping her eyes on the screen and not on the low riding sweatpants.

"No, just watching my team play with their heads up their asses. And having a healthy breakfast of Jake's caramel popcorn. Gotta keep fit for the killing, or junkie-arresting, whatever it is these days."

Mike grabbed a handful as he plopped down onto the couch. "Can't we watch cartoons or something? It's Saturday."

"I knew letting Johnny hypnotize you with Tom and freakin' Jerry was a bad idea. And no," she pulled the popcorn bowl away from Mike's traitorous reach. "This game is crucial for the Dodgers."

"It's just a game, Charlie," Mike shrugged, dropping a few kernels into his mouth.

Charlie stared at him, personally offended.

"Just a game, Michael? _Just a game_! This is America's past time! The hopes and dreams of children everywhere ride on the backs of these majestic heroes! They—,"

"They are just people, Charlie, and frankly comes down to science and physics."

Charlie narrowed her eyes at him. "If you can call the next guess plays based on your so-called science and physics, then you can watch whatever the hell you want."

Mike raised an eyebrow, a small smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. "Fine. What inning is it?"

"Second."

Mike sat up and sprinkled the remaining kernels back into the bowl, much to Charlie's great disgust. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees and his hands clasped under his chin. His eyes darted around the screen, taking in every detail he could. And then it was the Dodgers turn to bat.

Number seventeen stepped up to the plate.

"Hmm, high batting average, recovered from recent phalange injury. He's going to make it to second base," Mike concluded.

Charlie scoffed. "He hasn't hit the side of a barn in three—,"

And there he was, scrawny number seventeen sliding across second base.

She gaped at him.

"Phalanges are fingers. He got it from a bad catch. Shouldn't have affected his batting ability."

Charlie turned around in her chair. "Lucky guess."

The camera angle changed to behind the batter. "High elbows, low stance. He's going to hit to high to left field."

_Strike one_.

Charlie eyed him over her shoulder.

_Strike two. _

And— pop— the ball ran the entire length of the yellow boundary.

Mike shrugged. "He put too much weight on his heels. There wasn't enough momentum to get the ball flying right."

Charlie grumbled and grabbed another handful of popcorn. Number twenty-one stepped up to the plate, the last batter before she had to give up the rights to the TV. For the first time in her life, she wished for an out against the Los Angeles Dodgers.

"He's going to bunt it."

Charlie whipped around. "No way! You never make a bunt unless there've been shitty calls or the defense is wicked strong."

Mike leaned back, his arms stretched out against the length of the couch. "Maybe. But if he had half a brain on him, he'd see that the outfield is at least a foot back from where they're supposed to be. I say that's perfect bunting material."

Charlie shifted back to the TV, a nervous nail scraping her teeth. She clutched the remote for dear life. Two strikes came and went, both full swings. Her heart was beating furiously. And then the third pitch came.

It was a bunt. The catcher fumbled for the ball but Twenty-One was already gone. Seventeen rounded the third base, sprinting along and making an epic dive for home plate. Twenty-one tapped second base as his previous hitter slid into third. The ball was finally stopped.

"Hey, look, they scored." Mike suddenly appeared at the foot of the ottoman, still staring at the screen. "And I believe that remote is mine." His gaze dropped and he smirked. He extended a hand. "Hand it over, DeMarco."

She frowned suspiciously. "There's something fishy going on here."

Mike made a face as if he were considering. "Hmm, I don't think so. I think you're just a sore loser. And I've crushed your childhood. Sorry about that."

Suddenly, as if he were falling, he dropped down to eye-level with her, hands splayed on either side of the arms of the high-backed chair. She could feel his warm breath run down her cheeks. Under the pale penetration of his blue eyes, she felt totally exposed. Her big toe, the leg resting outstretched on the ottoman, hooked the loop of his sweatpants and threatened to tug them down. The smooth jut of his brown hip stood out against the plain grey of his sweatpants.

"But, the FBI code holds me to my honor." He spoke, smooth and low. Though the breath fluttering down to her earlobes was warm, goose bumps broke out on her skin unconsciously. "And now I must confess, I haven't been entirely truthful. The lies are my life, and this one practically ate me whole. I know Jakes records your baseball games every Friday night so you can watch them on Saturday. I know because I did it for two weeks when I took over his chores. This one is recorded. I watched it last night after I got home."

He fell up and planted a full kiss onto her forehead. Swinging back up, he snatched the remote out of her limp hand and tumbled back onto the couch.

Charlie blinked, the goose bumps easing out, before grabbing the popcorn bowl and hurling it at him. "You cheater! I knew that whole physics and science thing was bullshit!"

"And yet, you didn't call me on it." Mike sighed. He picked a kernel of his chest and popped it into his mouth. He lifted the remote and suddenly the game was gone, to be replaced by Tom chasing Jerry repeatedly around a kitchen table. "I could tell you the out come, if you like."

"No, no, no! You've ruined this inning for me, you bastard! I am not letting you ruin the whole game!" Charlie leapt up and started off for the kitchen.

"They played a great game, you know. They fought so hard, only to—,"

"SHUT UP! I'M NOT LISTENING!" She stuck her fingers in her and bounded into the next hallway.

Mike grinned at himself. "Levi 1, Charlie 0."

* * *

_*A/N: hehe, I loved writing the end to this. It was such a great fun looking forward to see how Mike might grow into himself, how he might realize that you too can use your good looks to get what you want and mess with your friends. I just see a very confident and playful Mike in the future, not to mention the hours of undercover training teaching him how to influence people. And I played with the idea that Mike isn't really that into baseball, in spite of the fact that Aaron LOVES it, hehe. It was great fun! _

_Thanks to everyone who has reviewed and liked and favorited and followed. You guys rock so hard and totally make this possible. I also want to add a bunch of different little cute scenes (like this one) to add to the end of chapters, so if there's something that you guys want to see, please, please message me and I'll be glad to throw it in! _

_Again, thank you all and I'll update soon!_


	3. Chapter 3: Man on a Wire

**Chapter 3: Man on a Wire**

* * *

December 20th, 2015

_Time- Unknown_

_Location- Unknown_

* * *

The shipping rope wrapped tightly around his wrist made them itch and sweat. It wasn't helping that he had started sweating in a whole variety of other places, places that he didn't know you could stress sweat from. But from that day on, Mike knew when it came down to the real terror and danger, his ankles started seeping like ice cubes in a frying pan.

"Any luck?" He asked Charlie who sat, tied up as well, right behind him. She struggled against the binds, which only made the loops around his wrists tighter. He grimaced but didn't say anything.

"No. Shit." She fought hard for a moment, twisting and jerking, then relaxed. "Shit!"

"So is there any chance that Briggs has any idea that we've been kidnapped?" Mike asked sullenly, glancing around the stark warehouse the Russians had thrown them in.

"Why would he? How is he supposed to know that Checkov hates the family on his mother's side?" Charlie huffed. "Which, of course, we have the shit-luck to pose as. As far as he knows, this meeting is going as smooth as hell."

"Yeah, who know family reunions could suck this bad?" Mike laughed, but in a rush, a pop of panic escaped him and the laugh cracked in a falsetto. He swallowed and grimaced, hoping Charlie missed it. She was silent before chuckling quietly.

"Special Agent Mike Warren, are you nervous?" She teased.

A wave of embarrassment broke over his face and he smiled sheepishly. He laughed again, this time without humor, hollow.

"Yeah, I— uh— guess so." His cheeks were suddenly inflamed and he was glad she couldn't see his face. "Pretty lame, huh?"

Charlie was quiet for a moment, and then she too laughed hollow.

"We're tied up in an abandoned Russian warehouse in God Knows Where. The rest of the team has no idea where we are. We don't know when our kidnappers are coming back, either to let us go or to kill us, or worse. For all intent and purposes, we are all alone and completely, and totally, up Shit Creek without paddle." She sighed and softly dropped her head. "No, Mike, to say you're nervous or scared is okay by me."

Mike felt his heart skip a beat when her forearm brushed his. Suddenly emboldened, he glanced over his shoulder.

"We're going to get out of this, though. You know that, right?" When Charlie didn't answer, he pulled the ropes aside and grabbed her hand as best he could. He found her clenched fist, but once he touched her, she relaxed her hand. Their pinkie fingers intertwined. "Everything is going to be okay."

"You're damn right it is." She squeeze his little finger back. "Now, because Briggs is probably passed in a hammock somewhere, we gotta get out of here by ourselves. I'm up for suggestions, Special Agent."

Mike nodded and pushed the blooming consideration of how soft her palm would be pressed up against his, out of reach. He glanced around their captivity and inspected it for the first time.

It was a storage warehouse, for what looked to be a grocery store. There was a set of locked double doors to their far right, and across the stacks of goods, a door stood in the shadows of the corner with a brilliant red EXIT sign overhead.

Charlie was the closest to anything, a high stack of gardening supplies facing her.

"I think I can get to that trowel over there," Charlie muttered. "Just gotta stretch—,"

She sank low in the chair, her toes reaching. She swiped for the tool—

Charlie's grab knocked the trowel to the floor and knocked back the stack. It swayed, threatening to topple forward, then teasing as it fell back but it was too heavy. The stack tumbled backward, knocking the one behind it down. That one hit the wall of perched shelves. The impact caused them to shudder, the whole wall shuddering violently, before the shelves tottered to the side and collapsed in front of the double doors.

"You think they heard that?" Mike asked. The trowel was already in Charlie's hands, scrapping hard against the rope.

"Let's not stick around to find out." She jerked and cut and jerked. Finally she flung herself free with a gasp of relief. Outside the double doors, they heard shouting and Russian curse words.

"C'mon, Charlie, they're coming."

But she was already ripping his ropes free from their knots.

Pounding on the door. It was louder than the pounding in his ears. There were shadows moving beyond the windows.

The ropes went slack and Mike swung his arms forward and rubbed the itch away. Charlie was on her feet, looking for an exit. But the windows were too high. Their gazes fell onto the EXIT door at the same time.

"What do you wanna bet opening that sets off an alarm?" Charlie muttered.

"I don't think we have another choice."

There was a loud bang and the rubble from the shelves was thrown to the side as a thick man barreled through.

"MOVE!"

They bolted across the storage room and Charlie kicked open the exit. Immediately a whirling, piercing noise shattered Mike's ears as a red light lobbed itself around the room. A staircase leading up faced them. Mike gave a quick nod before following Charlie up two steps at a time.

They kept going up and up, green lights from the walls shrouding the agents in a sickly glow. The shouting in Russian got louder and a bullet blew through the handrail, right where Mike's hand had been moments before. Charlie froze, her wide eyes asking if he was hurt. But he shook his head, tired sweat creeping up under his collar. There was a faint burn in the back of his calves, as if his legs were trying to remember to ache, but Mike shook his head and nodded for them to continue.

More bullets. More stairs. Loud voices and a muffled buzzer. Mike's head was beginning to spin from the trapped air of the stairwell and near exhaustion. His muscles were burning and sweat dripped from his back, running cold near the base of his spine. They stopped for a second to gulp in air and he noticed Charlie's hand, resting on the handrail, was shaking. She caught him looking and she raised the other hand, as if to touch him, to comfort, to tell him she was okay, but she lowered it and jerked her head. Mike gasped, shaking his head rapidly in agreement. The angry footsteps grew louder.

They ran, up, and up, and up, and there, under a white light, was a door. On the front in bold, red letters it said:

ROOF ACCESS.

PROCEED WITH CAUTION.

Charlie barreled through it and Mike followed a second later, his brain chugging through the realization that there was nowhere for them to go.

Cold night air blasted against his face and Mike gulped it in, his throat drying in seconds. Charlie was already across the roof, searching for a way down, or out, or across. But there was none. She held a hand against her forehead to keep her whirling hair from catching in her eyes. Here, there was nothing but wind tunnels and vents humming like giant thick bugs.

"Shit, shit, shit . . ." Charlie muttered.

Mike locked the door and stepped to the center of the roof, his loose hair biting his ears. One look at Charlie and he knew: they were done for. No guns. No phones. No back up. Mike spotted a water pipe. With a swift kick, he broke it free and handed it to her. He grabbed a piece of shattered glass. When they met eyes, he felt a swell of comfort. She was smiling at him, knowing damn good and well they could be shot to death in minutes, but she had total trust in him, as her partner, as her defender, as her friend.

Over the ridge, a roaring noise rose up from the ground. A pulse of air rushed over the side of the roof and crashed into them. A spot light blinded him and it was a moment before he realized it was a one-manned helicopter. It's driver—

"This is Briggs!" A mechanized voice boomed from the helicopter's speakers. "We're getting men on the ground now, but they can't get to you in time. You have to jump."

"WHAT?" Mike yelped.

Charlie ran to the side and looked over. Mike joined her and his mouth dropped. Jakes, Johnny and Paige stood near the corners of a giant inflated box. They were mouthing something and waving them down.

"Oh no, no, no," Mike stumbled down from the side of the roof. His knees were jittering and weak. Of all the things, Mike Warren was prepared for, jumping from the roof of a five story building was not one of them. He turned away, his hands shaking. "There is no way, no way—,"

He felt Charlie's soft fingers grab his and they pulled him towards her. Their palms together, she looked at him seriously. She spoke quietly, but firmly, somehow loud enough to be heard above the roar of the helicopter.

"Do you trust me?" She asked.

Mike glanced over the side, the ground not even visible, but Charlie gently took his jaw in her hand and turned him to look at her. The whirl of the helicopter died soundly, the fantastic wind was now at a lull, and somehow, they were totally and completely alone on a Russian warehouse roof.

"Mike," she murmured. "Do you trust me?"

"Charlie, the physics, the mathematical probability that we'll land even remotely close to that—,"

"Screw the math, Mike!" She cried in earnest, shaking her head slightly. "This is about you and me! Do you trust me? Will I keep you safe?"

Something warm bloomed inside of him and despite the sticky heat of the night, the sweat molding into paste on his back, he was at ease, for the first time all night.

"Yes." He nodded and covered the hand on his cheek with his own. "I do."

Charlie pulled him back up onto the ledge, their hands still knotted and Mike holding her hand to his face.

"Everything's going to be okay."

Charlie swallowed and stepped into his chest. Her arms wrapped around his back, looping up to his shoulders, like a parachute strap. Where her body touched his, a white hot current ran along the crack, longing prickling his skin like an itch. He enclosed her head with his thick arms, one hand clutching her neck. Their cheeks were pressed together and he felt her shiver. It was their world for just a moment, holding out against time and life and death. Her lips pressed a trembling kiss onto his throat.

"You ready?" She whispered. He squeezed his eyes shut and nodded.

Like a cracking oak, tipping away under the flood of current, they fell. One foot, and then both feet and then nothing under them. Panic weld up inside of him and he crushed her tight, her nails digging into his shoulders. He felt her teeth clench in her jaw next to his.

They fell

Down

Down

Down

Down

Down

And when they hit the soft box, air burst from the sides like a gasp of relief.

* * *

December 31st 2015

_23-34 Graceland_

* * *

Her stomach let out a tremendous growl and Charlie groaned. It had been far too long since anything occupied her stomach, but with everything that constantly preoccupied her brain, there wasn't room for very much else. It was the final round of recorded interview for the Russian warehouse incident and Charlie waved it goodbye with a lazy bow. She hated being a puppet, even being a puppet for the government she worked for, but every now and again, she had to put on the same old song and dance and give them a good show. It had been the reports first. She had been interviewed by three different references from the FBI in a single day and one at six o'clock the very next morning. Then came the psychologist, the analysts, the psychoanalysts, the psychotherapists, the therapists— all just to confirm that she was still capable of being on the FBI payroll after falling five stories into a giant bouncy box. And of course, being Charlie DeMarco, she passed with flying colors.

But that didn't mean her feet got sore from all the dancing.

Charlie unlocked the Graceland front door and was met with a barrage of streamers, sparklers and pops of champagne. Before the whirling mess of smiling faces came into focus, someone grabbed her around the shoulders and slapped a champagne glass into her hand.

"Dude, you almost missed it! I would have killed you if you missed it!" Johnny sang in her ear.

"Almost missed what?" Charlie muttered, her head rushing and her stomach groaning.

"Don't you know what day it is, silly?" Paige materialized to her left, scooping up her arm. Her party hat was already slanting and the faint smell of tequila burned from her mouth. "You almost missed New Years!"

The merry bunch of misfits dragged her out to the balcony, where they watched the fireworks every year. It was a truly magnificent sight; clouds of light breaking out over glowing green waves, churning through black night and sky. But if the world didn't stop spinning and if she could finally eat something, everybody was going to be seeing a whole different type of green.

They marched out onto the balcony and someone slipped a party hat over her head. Briggs was in full swing, one thick arm looped sloppily around Jakes who was singing the latest Lady Gaga song in his Jamaican accent. Even Lauren was having a good time. She and Johnny were trying to converse in opposite languages: Lauren, in Russian and Johnny with Spanish. It didn't seem that the language barrier was totally collapsing but still Johnny said something and Lauren laughed so hard, tears rolled down her cheeks.

Paige was fixing Charlie up a stronger drink when her stomach gave another painful gurgle.

"Look, babe, I gotta get something other than Absinthe in me or New Years isn't going to be fun for anybody."

Paige glanced at Charlie, at the drink her hand and nodded. She slugged it back and made a face. "Eat some bread. Bread absorbs it all, like _that_!" She snapped her fingers in Charlie's face before zigzagging over to Lauren. Charlie chuckled and shook her head. Despite the fact that she knew she would be playing nanny for all these hung-over bastards in the morning, she really couldn't be upset.

Charlie found the beef ribs from the cook out the previous weekend hiding in the back of the fridge and she almost moaned. Without even heating them up, she dug into the ribs, BBQ sauce running through her teeth and down her chin. She was about halfway through her second plate when she saw someone emerge from the shadows. Her heart jerked into her throat, then flip-flopped when she realized it was Mike.

"Holy shit, Mike, don't you know better than to sneak up on a starving Fed."

He shrugged, a small smile on his lips. "Ah, figured if you had the ribs to entertain you, I'd probably be safe."

Charlie grinned sheepishly and swallowed. Her hands were covered in sauce. He moved forward and instinctively, she took a step back, around the corner of the island. His smile faltered slightly, but she looked away and dove for the sink to wash herself clean.

"So we survived all the freakin' psych tests they could throw at us," she said to the sink faucet. "I think that deserves a celebration or something."

"Yeah, want a beer?"

Why were her knees shaking? Were the walls getting closer together? Where had all the air gone?

"Uh, yeah, that sounds great."

She heard him open the fridge behind her, the clink of the glass bottle leaving the shelf, and saw his hand put the beer right next to the sink. And then his body was pressed up against hers, his breathing warm and rough, flowing down her back like lilac fingers. His hands cupped her hips, thumbs revolving slowly, and scuffing the warm skin at her waist. He breathed her name like a prayer into the crevice of her neck and her heart nearly stopped. She whipped around and grabbed his shoulders, but she didn't push him away.

Beyond the kitchen window, a bright shower of lights illuminated the night sky and their friends screamed and popped more champagne and Mike leaned forward and kissed her brilliantly on the mouth. It was like drinking fire. She shivered and he pulled her into him, their bodies bending like perfect arcs, like up-turned lips and willow trees in a summer rain.

A golden hailstorm rained down them and Charlie suddenly smelled popcorn, cotton candy and the sea.

_It's dangerous. You'll just get hurt everyone hurt in the end. _

Charlie turned her head, breaking the snap of electricity growing with every touch of skin they made. She realized she was panting and gulped.

"Mike, what are you doing?"

"I liked the way you held me, when we were falling to our deaths." He muttered, nearly pouting. He ran a dizzy finger from the hairline to her chin.

"Have you been drinking?"

"I thought this was a time for celebrating."

Charlie slid away from his arms and started putting away her meal. Mike leaned against the counter, sipping on Charlie's open beer.

"So, uh, have you talked to Lauren lately?"

Mike smirked, his eyes out of focus but following her every move, and shook his head. "Not really. Why?"

"Ever hear her mention Donnie?"

"No."

"Do you know if they're still together?"

"Not really."

"Did she ever mention to you that she felt really betrayed when he left?" Charlie quizzed from inside the fridge. She moved the corned beef over just a little bit, even though the rack of ribs fit perfectly there. "I mean it technically wasn't his fault, but still, since the whole dating thing, she felt like he just abandoned her—,"

The fridge door suddenly swung closed and Charlie leapt back to get out of the way. Mike met her gaze with sharp, clear eyes. His arms were crossed.

"This isn't about Donnie and Lauren, is it?"

Charlie fought back his glare, despite the overwhelming sense of guilt it weighed on her. "You know what could happen, Mike. You know the risks."

"Yeah, I do," he challenged, "and I thought they didn't seem so bad. At least not to you."

At this, Charlie swallowed tears and turned her back. "I'm not going to have you risk your future for a 'what-if', for a fling that could get us both fired, or killed."

She bent forward, forearms resting on the island counter. She could hear his steady breathing behind her. She sighed through the wave of brown hair, through her separation of what she desperately wanted, and what was good for the sake of everyone.

"Mike," she began. "Do you trust me?"

He moved and followed her position on the counter. His eyes looked twice as blue that night and twice as dark.

"Yes."

"Then let this go. Get your rocks off with some local girls, hell, even date a couple, but focus on you." She tapped his chest with every word. "This will get you into trouble, but this," she tapped his head, "will never lead you wrong. And I know. I've seen it in action."

Mike was quiet, face slack and hands clasped. Then he reached forward and enveloped her hands with his.

"Do you trust me, Charlie DeMarco?"

Her eyes pricked painfully again. "Completely."

"When this is all over, when Graceland is burned and we're strangers to each other, if you still want to kiss me like you did by the sink, just know I haven't forgotten." He gently moved a hair behind her ear. "You are unforgettable."

He stood up fully and grabbed his beer again. He handsomely patted her shoulder, the fingers lingering too long on her back before his hand fell away to his side.

"Happy New Years, Charlie."

She meant to reply, meant to return his wishes of a good year to his retreating back, but something ruptured inside of her, a salt water bag gushing over an open wound, and Charlie fell into the seat beside her, put her head into her arms and began to cry.

* * *

_*A/N: okay, I know I posted yesterday and I usually try to space out my postings, but I am not limiting myself at all this time. I'm having a great time doing it, so fuck da h8rs. Anywho, I know I'm diverging from canon by having Lauren stick around— and explicitly say that she and Donnie were dating, but c'mon, they totally have the hots for each other— but I wrote this before she got kicked out, so ya'll are just gonna have to roll with it. _

_Also if anybody can't tell, I'm doing the time in military time. Whoops. Sorry if that stresses anybody out. Hopefully I'll be posting again tomorrow but Ima B super busy so no promises. But again, thanks to all who have read and reviewed: you will get to sign my guestbook at my funeral. TTFN_


	4. Chapter 4: Ten Cent Pistol

**Chapter 4: Ten Cent Pistol**

* * *

September 1st, 2017

_02-05 Graceland_

* * *

Charlie shivered. She shivered, despite the steaming water pouring down her bloody hands. She shivered and her back spazed so sharply, her vision blurred from the head rush. She grabbed onto the sides of the sink, the steam clogging her pours and stuffing the tears back down her throat. She gasped, blinking at the ceiling for several long, hot seconds, then she wiped her nose with the back of her hand and shut off the water. And still the scent of blood remained, fresh and present and stifling. She needed out of these clothes, the clothes that now held cold blood— _like a body_— she needed to burn these clothes.

_And maybe, me along with it._

She stumbled back out of the bathroom, head still spinning. She made sure not to touch the walls— evidence. The bullet holes that riddled the walls would definitely be matched back to Kuzmenov. One more thing in the Bureau's laundry list of crimes— illegal weapon possession. She wanted to be sure they got him, on everything. That he couldn't escape in court. Once they found him, of course.

Charlie step-sided a Russian body. Out of habit, she kicked his weapon away from his limp hand. It skittered passed broken glass, pillow feathers, cushion stuffing, more dead bodies, ripped fabric, shattered bottles, bent forks and cracked plates. She eased herself around doors blown open and doors blown off, handles rolling uselessly on the ground. She wove around broken glass from the windows and crumbled sheet rock from the house itself. There was a massive hole leading into Briggs's room. She shuddered to think what would have happened had he been there— had they not had the warning—

Outside she heard the mumblings and clicks of agents gathering evidence and her heart clenched.

She found the kitchen once again. She turned the corner, just as Lauren's pale face was closed inside the black body bag. Charlie was forcibly knocked back in shock and she leaned against the wall, her hand over her heart.

"Jesus fucking Christ . . ."

The MEs loaded Lauren onto a stretcher. Johnny, who had been as still as a cemetery statue, suddenly leapt to his feet.

"Wait."

He took the golden cross necklace from around his neck and held it over the black bag, whispering a prayer in quick, trembling Spanish. He reverently made the sign of the cross and then pulled away. The light hit him and he seemed to glow— an angel in the valley of Death. The MEs pulled her away, back through the door. With nothing left to pray for, Johnny wavered and fell onto his backside, cradling his face as though his soul was trying to escape through his nose, rocking back and forth.

Nobody moved. Nobody breathed. Paige was crying silently in the corner, her brilliant blue eyes wide and staring, bottom-lip trembling. Her mouth was red, where she tried to give Lauren CPR. But her hands were strong enough. That's where Charlie had come in. Jakes was gone the minute Lauren was pronounced dead. He was outside with the rest of the investigators, describing in minute detail how the Russians had found them based on the torture and kill of a CI, how Lauren arrived at the door, bloody and bruised, giving everyone else a two minute head-start, how she tried to hold her own, tried to hold on and keep fighting, until, in a whirl-wind of chaos, Kuzmenov snuck up behind her and dug a deep red line across her neck with a meat-cleaver. She bled out in three minutes. He planned it all along. He didn't care about Graceland, or the agents, or the risks. His goal was Lauren, for revenge, blood-for-blood. And the fact that he had succeeded would weigh harshly on her teammates for the rest of their lives.

There were still blood splatters on the ceiling.

Briggs wanted to be out there too, out in the sand, near the waves, where this could just be a vague thought in the back of his mind. Charlie could tell. But a general doesn't leave his soldiers, not when they're so scattered. Not when they've been beaten like dogs.

"Now what?"

Mike's voice was like a whip, volatile and crude, snapping and demanding. He leaned against an unmarked wall, his leg bandaged. Beneath his crossed arms, he still held his gun. The fingers still drummed the trigger.

* * *

August 31st, 2017

_23:48 Graceland_

* * *

Charlie saw the guy behind the wall a second before he fired. She ducked again behind the couch as a bullet ripped the stuffing into the air. She reloaded, pictured exactly where she had seen him in her mind's eye, and whipped up.

Tap. Tap. The Russian tumbled to the ground, chest oozing. She swung her barrel up to the second level of the house and shattered the kneecap of a man with a machine gun. He fell and about a second later, he rolled over, a bullet through the head. She heard shouting and gunfire and another low boom of a small detonation going off. Despite her advantage of being well guarded near the big open windows of the living room, she was also very much trapped. She saw movement and shot down the running Russian's leg.

Someone yelled freeze in the rough language and she put her hands up. Another man pointed at her down the barrel of an M-16. Suddenly, his head popped and he toppled backwards. Mike popped two more thugs before settling down next to her.

* * *

September 1st, 2017

_02-22 Graceland_

* * *

"Now we move on." Briggs said, still looking at the place where Lauren's body had been moments before. "We'll all get reassigned, new positions."

"For fuck's sake, Briggs, that's not what we need," Paige snapped. She furiously wiped off her cheeks. They looked blistered.

Briggs looked at her, his face hard. "I know what you need. You need to know that everything is going to be okay. You need to know that in five—ten—fifteen years you won't look back on this night and feel so much pain that you want to jump off the nearest bridge. Well, I'm not going to lie to you and tell you that you won't feel this way."

Paige let out a hysterical laugh. "You know, for captain of the team, you give really shitty pep-talks."

He turned to face her head on and seemed to grow three sizes. "You want me to tell you that it didn't matter? That _she_ didn't matter?" He pointed to her death site. "Because that's what it means! When you lose something and it doesn't hurt!"

Paige swallowed and looked away.

* * *

August 31st, 2017

_24-01 Graceland_

* * *

"How are you doing?" He muttered, reloading.

"Just fine. I was thinking about getting my nails done later. Wanna come?"

His back muscles relaxed and he grinned. "This is pretty much a regular thing for you, isn't it?"

"You've been living here for five years, you tell me." Charlie wove around him and took out a guy running in from the kitchen.

"Briggs said to meet here. To flush 'em right out the front door. Think that'll work."

"It's Briggs. It's always a fifty-fifty chance that we could all die."

Suddenly from the kitchen, Briggs slid in behind a barricade of chairs. "I heard you guys were talking shit about me." Pow. Pow. Two more fell down from the second floor. He had a second pistol strapped to his waist and a M-80 clanked around on his back.

"We'd never disgrace our captain," Charlie muttered, firing again into the back rooms.

* * *

September 1st, 2017

_02-32 Graceland_

* * *

"Lauren was a fighter, right till the very end. She would want to be remembered, but not like this." Briggs turned, his tight mouth offset by his wide, hurt eyes. He glared at all of them. He pleaded with all of them. "You will wake up for the next fifty years watching Lauren Kincaid die. Sometimes it will be with a knife, sometimes with a gun, sometimes Kuzmenov will simply strangle the life right out of her."

Johnny put his head in his arms.

"You will all wish that you had been faster, done better, been quicker. You wished you could have saved your best friend. But you can't. That's life. You couldn't have saved her from a heart attack sooner than you could have saved her from this. But you will always regret not being fast enough. Because she mattered."

"Be sad. Mourn her. Go to the damn funeral, but don't you dare, for one second, want for that pain to go away. Because when it does, you will have really failed Lauren Kincaid."

"She would want to be remembered," Johnny muttered, his voice thick.

They were quiet, before Mike slid away from the wall.

"Well, we'll never know that for sure, will we?"

Charlie shivered, a spasm rising once again. She glanced at Briggs who was again staring at the ground, before following after Mike.

* * *

August 31st, 2017

_24:39 Graceland_

* * *

Paige and Lauren, Paige holding a door to cover both of them, stumbled in from Briggs's room and propped up in a corner. Lauren's hand had been badly bandaged but only for the sake of time.

"Now we just need Tuturo and Jakes."

A rapid firing of bullets made them all automatically duck down. Someone groaned as a fist went across their face and a body tumbled down from the upper level. Jakes leaned over the side and saluted them, dodging a blade coming at him from the hands of an angry attacker. Briggs took the Russian out in two taps. Johnny appeared a second later and violently kicked his attacker over the second level barrier. He massaged his hand.

"Damn _puto_ cut me."

* * *

September 1st, 2017

_02-41 Graceland_

* * *

The moment she touched his hand, she knew it was over. It was all over. The haunted ghost had returned, only this time, he was trapped in the body of someone she desperately loved.

He whirled around, snatching his hand away from her.

"Don't you dare touch me," he breathed.

"C'mon, Mike, I trying to save your life—,"

"Yeah and you let Lauren's killers go! You LET THEM GET AWAY, CHARLIE, DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT THIS MEANS?"

Charlie snapped. "YEAH, YOU UNGRATEFUL BASTARD, IT MEANS YOU GET TO LIVE ANOTHER DAY!"

His mouth twitched. "I could have done it, you know. I could have gotten them. They'd be dead now."

"No, we'd have two body bags!" She roared back. "Do YOU have any idea of how badly it scares me to think that you could have died too tonight? Do you, at all?"

"I could have gotten them, Charlie, I could have—,"

"BUT YOU COULDN'T BRING HER BACK."

"AT LEAST I TRIED." Mike was seething, his chest quivering. "I WENT AFTER THE BASTARDS AND YOU ALL DID NOTHING. YOU STILL SEE ME AS SOME CHILD WHO CAN'T BE TRUSTED TO FIRE HIS OWN WEAPON— WHO IS BEING IRRATIONAL WHEN HE WANTS TO SAVE HIS FRIENDS." He swallowed and threw his gun to the floor. "Well, congratulations, Charlie, you just loss another friend you have to worry about."

_I didn't mean it. I don't think you're a child. I worry about you because I— _

He was gone.

* * *

August 31st, 2017

_24:51, Graceland_

* * *

And then, without warning, the remains of the front door were blown back and three men dressed completely in black riot gear began lighting the place up with machine guns strapped to their waists. Mike and Charlie threw themselves to the ground, the bullets crackling through the air like falling acorns. She could hear the pounding of the bullets, getting and closer to them through their barricade.

There was a pause, like a dragon gulping in air before he releases another wave of blood-boiling fire. Charlie was on the floor, hearing her own heartbeat in her ears, eyes shut tight, expecting death. She knew Mike's hand was just inches from hers and before she died, she'd like to hold that gentle hand again. But in that pause, in that breath, she heard a soft gasp, as though a soul was shocked to leave its body. Charlie had a second to look up, to watch as Kuzmenov ripped through Lauren's pale flesh with his steely blade, as blood escaped like popping fireworks. Her hands twitched like she meant to grab the blood, grab her soul and stuff it all back inside. But it was too late.

Charlie opened her mouth and someone else screamed. Paige was screaming as Lauren's body swayed, her eyes drifting, the blue fading, her knees crumbled and she fell over. Kuzmenov dropped the weapon and motioned to the men in black to run.

Someone, this one male, screamed Lauren's name and Briggs was by her side instantly. Johnny and Jakes were gone from the second level, thundering down the stairs, their footfalls like drumbeats.

_You gotta be faster_. Charlie thought sluggishly. _You gotta move faster. Why are you all so slow?_

Paige was already breathing stale life into Lauren, Briggs pounding on her chest. Jakes was trying to stem the bleeding.

Charlie looked at Mike and she didn't recognize the man sitting beside her. He was a ghost, a haunted, malicious ghost, full of torment and hatred. He stood up and headed for the door, each movement breaking sharply, closer and closer to a full run. A shadow passed over him, like a bird flying above, but in that moment Charlie realized he was marked for death. _If he follows them, he'll die_.

Charlie stumbled to her feet and ran after him, trying not to slide in Lauren's blood. She burst through the front door and saw him halfway down the driveway, blond hair flying in the moonlight. Even with all her training, it was the sheer force of will that propelled him forward, every step, every breath magnified a thousand fold by pure hatred. She would never catch him. Kuzmenov was almost to his car, but Mike was closing in.

A whisper wrapped itself around her, hissing a terrible truth in her ear. Her hand, clutching her gun, trembled.

_Shoot him_.

Kuzmenov was in his car, motioning for his driver to go, to step on it. One of his hit men was turning, gun raised, towards Mike. Mike was shouting something, something about good and evil and arrest by the Federal Bureau of Investigation.

Charlie raised her gun. Tears were coming down her face, but her hand was completely steady.

"I'm sorry, Mike."

The shot rang out, a brass bell falling against stone, and he screamed.

* * *

_*A/N: So the big betrayal is revealed. Yeah, I know, it should have been pretty obvious the only reason I kept Lauren around was to kill her in the end, so sorry to those who were not expecting it. _

_But yeah, this was probably too much fun to write, which probably means I'm a sociopath, but who isn't really? Also, there were supposed to be a lot more (like two more) chapters in between this but I really didn't want to lose my momentum and just stop writing. So unfortunately, there are only two more chapters (one of them rather short) after this one before it's over. But I'm thinking of releasing the cut chapters as stand-alone pieces later on. Would you guys be up for reading that?_

_So, with all this death and betrayal, what does this mean for Mike and Charlie? Will they ever recover from such a loss? Find out on the next chapter of Sexy Agents Being Emotional and Secretive! (*maniacal laughter *) _


	5. Chapter 5: Boardwalk Empire

**Chapter 5: Boardwalk Empire**

* * *

December 31st, 2013

_22-14 San Pedro, California, Boardwalk_

* * *

Lighted sparklers, carried by sun-drenched, bare-foot children along the soaked sand, crackled like explosive, tiny-stars. Mike watched them go, parents in tow, from the pier, high above the rolling black ocean. The crash of the glowing green waves pounding into the sand echoed like ancient drum beats. It would be midnight soon, and in a stroke of brilliance, Briggs made them all leave the house and enjoy a night off at the local carnival. The moment he saw a purchasable two-foot tall cotton candy, Mike left the others and went off to find a place where he could have a moment alone with his childhood addiction. Behind him on the pier, the giant Ferris wheel rolled in place, the barrage of lights from the carnival creating a whole, tiny galaxy in the palm of San Pedro. But for right now, Mike was entirely content with the pink sticky fluff. He tore off another piece and popped it into his mouth. He sighed and fell back against the wooden boards, staring up at the jet-black sky. Funny, it didn't look much different from the sky last year.

He felt the pounding of feet and heard Paige's giggle. He glanced around and saw Paige expertly dodging an arrow of water from Johnny's water gun. She ducked low as Jakes shot at her, before unleashing a wide spray of water over the both of them.

"Hey, it ain't fair that you have the Giant!" Johnny protested, holding up a hand to block his eyes. Mike wondered why he even bothered: all three of them were drenched.

"Maybe if you didn't suck so bad at the ring toss you could have one this too!" Paige sung happily and sprayed them again. As the boys wiped their faces clean, Paige turned to Mike, still lying on his back.

"C'mon, Levi, I need some back up. Briggs has an extra gun in his car," she panted. "You better not be thinking about falling asleep!"

"With a stick like that, he'll be up for the next three days," Jakes said seriously. He eyed the half-foot left of the cotton candy. "Where did you get that, by the way?"

"Where's everyone else?" Mike asked.

"We're all pretty sure Briggs is planning a sneak attack, but Charlie and Lauren went off—,"

"To talk," Paige finished. She glared pointedly at Johnny with his off-handed tone. "You all could learn a thing or two and get your head out of your ass and take a little precaution around her."

Johnny raised his hands in defense. "Hey, it's whatever. Donnie was my friend too. It sucks that she lost her boyfriend too."

Paige, seemingly satisfied with his response, glared at Jakes. He shrugged. "It's rough. We gotta battle love and duty. Sometimes love don't always come out on top."

At this, Paige frowned, but angrily. Slowly, she turned to Mike. "Are you sure you don't wanna come with us?"

Mike laughed. "Honestly, I don't think I could move. But is Lauren really upset?"

Paige nodded solemnly. "Like all of us, she hides her feelings. Doesn't want anyone to see her cry."

"But, Charlie, she's with her—,"

Paige smiled, brilliant teeth shining from golden lips. "Charlie's special. She wouldn't ever judge you, for anything."

"Okay, now that we got all this smultzy stuff out of the way, can we get back to kicking your ass?" Johnny asked, pumping his gun rapidly again.

"Tuturro, you spray me with that and I swear—,"

Jakes sprayed her from her head all the way down to her toes. He and Johnny glanced at each other before sprinting into the carnival maze. Paige let out a happy shriek and ran after them.

Mike shook his head, smiling. He stuck his arms through the wooden barrier, letting his bare feet dangle off the side, fingers sticky from the cotton candy. He watched throngs of people course over the wet bank, sleepy waves slipping in between their feet. Then, under the far, lesser pier, he spotted Charlie's dark head, dipping low in converse with Lauren's thin face. What really possessed him to stand up and go over there, he'll never really know. However, at the time, it felt as though he should apologize to Lauren, as if it was his fault, as it he had shown up and forcibly removed Donnie from the house. They had yet to have such a conversation, and with the dawn of a new year quite literally on the horizon, it seemed right to start out the next year fresh.

He danced over the warm sand, the infinitesimally small beads crawling over his smooth Virginian skin. He dropped off the half eaten candy in a trash bin and approached the shadowed women. He licked off the sticky bits before pausing and knocking on the wooden pole behind them. Charlie's low voice stopped and her dark head popped out from the side, an angry, questioning look on her face. She blinked when she saw Mike. He grinned, shrugging as if responding to the question, "what are you doing here?"

"Paige said I could find you guys here. I kinda wanted to talk to Lauren."

Charlie's mouth opened, her nose twisted as it did when she was slightly annoyed, but Lauren's voice came out before hers did.

"Yeah, Levi, I'm in here. C'mon in."

Charlie sat back in the sand as Mike slid down the sandy slope and under the pier.

Lauren wore a long sleeve t-shirt, her jeans wrapping tightly around her ankles. Her hair was braided and her make-up had been wiped clean. Clearly, it hadn't been her idea to get out tonight. Her elbows shifted uncomfortably on her bent knees. She glanced to Charlie, who nodded gently. Wind stretched over the pier, leaning against the wooden bones and making them creak.

"I just wanted to say I'm sorry," Mike said softly.

Lauren stared at him, her mouth twisting, her feet flapping against the sand. Then she looked away, brown hair rolling into her eyes by the push of the wind.

"It's not your fault."

"Yeah, but this transition wasn't easy. Especially for you and I guess . . . I . . . I never tried to help make it easier."

Lauren blinked roughly, a wet smile peeling her lips open. "That wasn't your job and—,"

"I just can't imagine hurting someone you love for the better of everyone else." Mike stared at her, hoping the gaze was soft as a hand on her shoulder could be. "That took guts, Lauren, letting him leave. I know it hurt, but you did the right thing."

Lauren watched the shift of the waves before nodding and wiped her eyes with a sniff. Charlie smiled, the corners of her mouth gently tugging upward. "Damn, I've been telling you this all night but it has to be the new guy who finally hits home."

Mike laughed, the sound crushed beneath a sharp whistle of the wind against the pier. His message sent, Mike looked away from the hurting woman. As though by habit, his eyes fell on Charlie. To his chagrin, she was already watching him. But it was with a gaze he had never seen come from her. She stared through him, past him, in him, with him— she saw all that ever he would be, the potential of future flung up against the night sky like a film flickering in the darkness. Charlie shifted, her hair blurring her brown eyes from his gaze, and pulled her jean jack closer.

"It's just rough, you know?" Lauren finally said, oblivious to the lingering gaze between her two friends. "He was here, every day, with me every day. And now he's gone, like nothing ever happened. Like we never happened."

Charlie closed her eyes for a moment, her head perched on an unexpected truth before she nodded and opened her eyes again. She rubbed Lauren's back.

"It meant something to you, and it meant something to him—,"

"Will it? Will it always matter or was it just convenient?" Lauren asked, of no one in particular.

Mike glanced at his toes, burrowing themselves into the sand.

"Will he remember me in Florida? Or the assignment after that? You guys know this job is hard, so hard, I just wonder if it's worth it. But with Donnie," Lauren laughed, the sound wet in her throat, "it was _always_ worth it. We were in our own worlds, safe from all this crap. It felt so right, but in the end I guess it was wrong . . . Gah!" She stood up, furiously wiping her eyes, the braid thumping on her chest.

"I'm sorry, Mike, Charlie, but— it's dangerous," she cried savagely. "It's dangerous and you'll get hurt. You'll hurt everyone in the end."

They watched her go, tumbling down the sandy embankment and the dark ocean sparkling brightly in her eyes.

"She's a tough girl," Charlie said, still watching as if to make sure she got up the beach safely. "But it's gonna be a while before she's back to herself."

"Well with something like that, I think a little time is expected."

Charlie glanced at him, her hands in her lap. "What you did tonight was also brave. If I were her, I would have punched you right in your rotten face."

"Isn't it good luck somewhere to get punched in the face on a new year?" Mike asked with a grin.

Charlie chuckled. "C'mon, smartass, let's go get you drunk. You're way too sober for 2014."

Mike smiled and followed her out from under the pier. Just as her head peaked out, the sky was electrified in a barrage of cracks and golden spirals. A collective cheer went up from the carnival and a few noisemakers buzzed over the roar. They stood, two shadows on a brown beach dotted with a thousand others like them: awe struck and silenced by the beauty.

"What do you want for the new year, Charlie?" Mike asked, eyes still transfixed on the falling light.

"Luck, Mike, luck that we all make it out of this alive."

For the second time that night, he found her brown eyes enveloping him before he even had a chance.

"Me too."

* * *

_*A/N ONE MORE CHAPTER GET ER DONE_


	6. Chapter 6: on this champagne,

**Chapter 6: on this champagne, drunken hope**

* * *

November 16th, 2020

_01-11, S Guadalupe Street_

* * *

Charlie breathed and seven years came out in the fog on her glass.

She placed a shaking hand on the bar to steady it, her ankles latched around each other. She spun away from Mike, his silence as oppressing as the heat outside. As though being dragged, her eyes fell to his left leg, the spot on his thigh where she had shot him in the dark, shot one of her best friend's down like a deranged animal. Where she thought she made a wound forever that would not heal.

Her heart pounding painfully, Charlie shook her head, the room wobbling.

"Shit, that was a stupid question. Never mind. I'll just— good luck, alright—,"

Charlie climbed to her feet, her hands still shaking, and slid past him, his back still hunched and his eyes low. Her cold hand touched the door handle, the smell of old firewood a hot mark in her memory— of all the places— all the times— why now— why did it have to be—

"Charlie." His voice was like wet gravel. It seemed to throw her forward, her head resting on the door, both hands clasped around the handle to hold her up. Her knees threatened to shudder but she stood up straight and cleared her throat. She turned, her head jostling haughtily.

"Yeah?"

Mike lifted his eyes and she knew that every moment, every firework, every warm brush of skin, every sweat droplet— he remembered. The good and the bad. Her thigh stung sharply, as if it remembered a wound that wasn't there. He looked through her and into a flickering tunnel of the past. Into Graceland's past. His eyes shone gold against the whisky glass. His wide palm rested on his knee like a used rag. Boots hooked on the metal bar on the seat, hand still grasping the shot glass, Charlie thought of a bizarre Mall-Santa. Like she could sit on his lap, whisper anything she wanted to him and it would be there, somehow, some way, he would make it right.

"Charlie," he began again, in his Mike way. "Do you want to see my apartment?"

Charlie blinked. She needed to go to sleep, to bed, to be rested for the morning. But without another thought, she nodded. If this was even a stumble in the direction of forgiveness, she would take it on a train.

Mike covered their drinks, put his hat back on and led the way back out the door. They walked in sync, his stroll an easy drawl. Charlie played with her purse's metallic clasp.

"Just up here," Mike muttered after ten minutes of walking in the greasy night air. Charlie followed him up a few steps to a glass door with card key access. He swiped it and after a beep, he held the door open and she went through. They went up three flights of stairs, and then at the end of a well-lit hallway, Mike slid the card again and disappeared into the room. It seemed like a decent enough place; definitely not a place where psychotic FBI agents killed old friends.

She entered the room just as he flipped on a light. It was a small apartment, the kitchen, living room and dining room all bound by the same four walls. Down the hall, she saw two doors, undoubtedly leading to a bathroom and bedroom. But even in his small space, he made it all his own. Pictures. Drawings. Magazines. Old movies. New movies. CDs and a speaker near the wall. It was well-kept, clean but remained homely. Charlie smiled. Mike was already in the fridge, his hat on the counter, knocking glass containers together in search of something.

"Do you want a beer?"

"I'll pass."

Mike took out a beer, popped off the top then proceeded to slump down on the couch. Charlie sat down in an arm chair across from him, her purse in her lap.

"Take off your shoes," he said almost sternly, but followed with, "you'll be more comfortable."

She slid the torturous high-heels off her aching feet and she physically had to fight a groan of relief. But she did sigh, her eyes fluttering. When she regained focus, she found Mike staring at her, the bottle rolling in between his fingers.

"You want to know if I'm still mad," he said quietly. "I didn't want to have this conversation in public because if there is a scene, we don't need the cops to be called."

Charlie's skin broke out in a panic heat, but her voice was calm and steady. "There's going to be a scene?"

"I said if. If there would be. Because I don't know how to react any more." He narrowed his eyes. "You should know, it still hurts."

"I'd imagine it does." She instantly regretted not taking him up on that beer. Her throat was dry, the salvia like wet balsawood in against her tongue.

Mike glanced away, nodded slightly. He leaned back in the seat and took a long sip.

"I didn't know how to react for the longest time. I was in such a shock that my best friend had shot me that when the anger set in, it set in like stone. God, I was so angry with you." He shook his head, his eyes rolling up to the ceiling. He almost laughed but he simply couldn't fake it. Not with her. "I was angry for the better part of these three years."

Her heart beat and a sharp pain shocked her nerves. For a moment, it hurt to breathe. It pumped again and the pain turned to rage.

"Well, I'm not sorry about it!" Charlie was on her feet, her finger pointing. "What I did saved your life, you rotten little—,"

"Sit down." Mike leaned forward, elbows on his knees, the gaze like cold poles jabbing into her. "I'm not done."

"I think I'll stand, actually, but go on." She crossed her arms and cocked her head. Ooh, he made her so mad, but shit, if she screwed this up—

Mike considered her, eyes falling from her pursed lips down her chest, over her smooth hands and then to the ground. He rolled his eyes, snickering darkly, before falling back again into the couch and took another sip.

"I was so angry I hated you. I hated you because you didn't trust me and you let Lauren's killer escape. Lauren's body wasn't even cold and you were selfish enough to think about yourself."

Charlie swallowed some painful curse words, her nostrils flared. "Me? You think I shot you because I cared about myself? I shot you so you wouldn't be flayed alive by some Russian murderer! If that's what he did to Lauren, just imagine what he would have done to you with an hour and a scalpel! What I did was for—,"

"So everything that ever happened between us was my imagination, then?" Mike slammed down the bottle on the table. Golden, foaming liquid erupted, drops flying ever where, but it wasn't the time or place to care. Mike was fuming, his ears red. "It was only me, who's brain went nuts every time we touched, who felt numb to the bone whenever we were close? You can stand here, in my house, after these years of stupid resentment, look me in the eye and tell me you never felt anything for me?"

Her heart stumbled and plummeted. Suddenly, her palms were wet and sweaty. They clenched and unclenched. She would have been more prepared of he tried to take a two-by-four to her face. Violence, she could handle, but this— this confession? A shiver ran up her spine and her hands twitched. Finally, they broke eye contact and she swallowed.

"Mike—,"

He rounded the table, his strides long and overwhelming. He had her pinned to a wall in two steps.

"Tell me it didn't mean anything. Tell me that you didn't shoot me because you can't stand the thought of me not being around. Tell me, please. Because, what finally stopped me from being angry was when I realized that I would have done the exact same thing."

He raised a hand, she expected a slap, but instead, it slipped around the curve of her jaw and he drew her gaze into him.

"I've been falling in love with you for seven years, Charlie. And I'm tired of saying no."

Charlie nodded, a lens of tear wobbling in both of her eyes. "It's been five years since that kiss . . ."

"Are we strangers now?" His lips hovered above hers, as though their breath was sweeter than either one of them remembered.

She threw her arms around his neck as he cornered her into the wall, lips caught in a frantic climb. Her hands ruined his perfect hair and his hands grabbed the back of her thighs. Her fingers dug into the smooth skin on the notch between his shoulders, threatening to pop the buttons on the front of the shirt. Without waiting, she pulled the collared shirt free and, while his lips kneaded her throat, she unbuttoned up the line. She trembled when he went behind her ear and licked the warm skin there. Her hand dipping into his pants, the white undershirt flapped loosely, the collared shirt already in a heap on the floor. He slid out of his shoes, socks, as she sucked on his earlobe. He went for his belt and when the metal hit the floor, Charlie turned, and his kiss fell wetly down her collarbone and into the crevice of her breast.

"This is dangerous," she moaned. "People— people— can get hurt."

"There's no one else left, Charlie," he growled and kissed her roughly on the mouth. She wanted to be mist in an autumn morning, so he could just consume her wholly. "It's just you and me."

His warm fingers tugged at the zipper on the back of her dress. She nodded, arms again around his head. The dress slid into a glittering heap on the floor. Immediately, her skin erupted with gooseflesh and she trembled.

"Christ, Mike, what are you doing to me?"

"I want to do everything." He bent down, their mouths still locked, and dragged her onto his hips. "I want to do everything to you."

He opened the door and the couple fell into the moonlight spread out on his bed, their skin translucent and heated like molded glass. And that's what they did all night, molding, turning, winding, bending over skin and hot breath and singing, racing thoughts. Fluttering over thundering hearts, over tingling toes until the sweat racing down their backs turned gold in the hazy morning sunlight.

* * *

November 20th, 2020

_14-17 Miami, Florida_

* * *

Paul Briggs opened his mailbox and read Charlie's latest postcard. A second name was signed at the bottom. He chuckled, shaking his head.

"Dumb ass kids."

* * *

_*A/N THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR STAYING WITH ME TO THE VERY END. I swore this wouldn't be an unended fic, but for personal reasons that I'd be happy to discuss if anyone wished to know, I was tied away from my computer. So thank you for your support, your words of encouragement. Hopefully, the next fic won't be so drawn out because instant gratification is the only acceptable kind! Thank you, thank you and see you all next time!_


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